Glass Castles
by mzmroxx4
Summary: "He'd like to forget—oh, yes he would—but even he gets tired of the glass castle." AU.
1. How it Starts

_Ah, there's no school tomorrow._

Amu is grateful—after all, she spent the entirety of last night watching a movie marathon. Had they not been showing all of her favorites, maybe she would've been well-rested.

And she's grateful, because in her bones she doesn't want to put on real clothes to sit in a lecture hall for three hours. She rolls onto her side and turns the television off. The living room is silent. She crosses her arms to keep her heat close to her; even though her apartment is warm, she still feels cold.

She sniffles, gold eyes flickering up to the coffee table. Her phone is there, next to crimson nail polish, two cotton balls, a half-eaten box of pocky, and Ikuto's keys. He forgot his keys, that idiot.

She stares long and hard at her phone and feels the urge to call someone, anyone—maybe dial a wrong number and talk to a complete and total stranger. Because she feels lost and found all at the same time. Restless energy is building inside of her and she can feel the indecisiveness coming on. But it's overpowered by other things, and she just needs to get it all out.

Her eyes shut tight for ten seconds. _Ten, nine, eight—oww, cramp in my foot—where was I?—oh yeah—seven, six—was I even at seven?—whatever—five, four, three, two—I wonder how Nagihiko's doing—_

She inhales sharply, eyes snapping open.

…one.

It's like the memories are building up inside of her head and playing over and over again. She hates herself. She can feel the regrets pouring out. She can feel tears and the pound of her heart and how dry her lips are. Ikuto kissed her neck that morning; it's burning right through her skin. Her eyes water.

She pushes herself up into a sitting position and wipes at her eyes. More tears are bound to come—she knows that and won't bother to deny it—but at least Ikuto isn't here to worry. She snatches the phone off the table, scrolls through her contact list, and hastily dials his number.

It rings—one, two, three, almost four—and then he answers.

"Amu-chan?"

She has to bite her lip to stop from bursting out. There's so much building up. She has to release. "Tadase-kun."

They've been friends for so long. He knows her too well, and she wonders if that's more of a curse than a blessing. But Amu truly doesn't give a shit and just wants to hear his voice.

There's shuffling in the background—a door closing, papers, something else—and then—

"Tell me everything."

So she does.

* * *

A/N: This isn't a story about Amu and Ikuto…but maybe it is. It's more about Rima and Nagihiko than anything else, but Amu is a major character, and maybe Ikuto will be but I'm not sure yet.

Read and review and tell me what you think!


	2. Day 1

_Three years ago._

_Summer, 2010._

_Day 1.1_

* * *

**.**

White flashes. She moans loudly. Their bodies shudder. Release. Collapse.

His chest is pressed against her back as he pulls his head out of the clouds of lust. He looks down at her—at her tussled pink locks, at her naked back, at the sweet arch of her back and her sinful curves. He can't help himself; he wants more.

His hands slide over her butt, grabbing and squeezing, and then over her thighs, between them, feeling the heat of their friction. His tongue—his oh-so _perfect _tongue—licks a trail from her shoulder to her neck, where he kisses and sucks and turns her on all over again. She moans as she runs a hand through her hair. From there she glances at him from over her shoulder, amber eyes alive with sensations. She licks her lips, pulls away, falls onto her back, and spreads her legs.

She welcomes him in again.

She breathes in his ear the incantation that keeps him going—_Don'tstopdon'tstop, yesrightthereplease_—and he does just that. Too well maybe. The edge is coming fast. She can feel the orgasmic bliss befalling over her, washing over her. Her head lolls back; the waves rocket through her; she cries out his name and grips at the pillows as he pushes through the whitewashed euphoria. He attacks and attacks at her bruised neck, her sensitive breasts—_NagihikoNagihikoyesyesyes!_

He's deep. Her insides clench onto him. He grins and keeps going. This is too good to end so soon. He's going to torture her with pleasure.

Their bodies are slick with sweat. The summer is hot, but his tongue, her insides, is hotter.

This is as close as they'll ever get.

* * *

**.**

Amu's arm falls from shielding her eyes to falling onto his chest. It's rising evenly beneath her palm; at some point, it even matches the rhythm of her heart. Her hair is a mess; her skin is sticky from the heat and their other activities. She's wearing her panties and nothing more and it feels good when the breeze blows into his room. She smiles somewhat. Her eyes drift down the length of his toned body, landing on the edge of the sheet that covers his hips.

There's a lot left to be desired.

And desire she does.

Forcing herself out of her perverted thoughts, Amu inhales and gets out of the bed. She grabs her bra, her tank top, and her jean shorts off the floor. Against her will she's redressing, removing herself from a place of utter peace and destruction and everything she thinks she wants.

As she makes a face at herself in the mirror—mostly at the disarray called her hair—her eyes watch Nagihiko rise out of the bed and pull his boxers on. Afterwards he fans his face and grabs a hairband from off the floor.

He turns to face her. Amu grins and buttons her shorts. "Are you going to Mitsura Chihiro's party tonight?" Somewhere inside of her, she wants him to go. She wants to dance with him, eat with him, pull them away and make out in a place not so private. She wants him to push her chest against the wall, pound into her, have him—

"Did you hear me?"

Amu's eyes snap open and she blames the hot weather for the reddening of her cheeks. "No, can you repeat that?"

"I said I'm not going. I have to clean the house today and some other stuff to work on." He pulls on his shirt. Amu expects that. Still.

"Well, I'll see you later then."

"Have fun."

She leaves. Nagihiko takes his hair out of the ponytail and sighs. He walks to the bathroom, showers, remembers Amu's warm lips, and feels his lips twitch.

* * *

**.**

If someone asked Nagihiko what his favorite color is, he'd say white. Because white is blank and free of the painful blemishes called memory.

* * *

**.**

If someone asked Amu what her favorite color is, she'd say black. Because black is dark and nothing is able to escape its heavy color. Because everything she wants to forget is suddenly hidden.

* * *

**.**

Amu shouldn't be watching them—because, gosh, it's _creepy_—but her eyes are focused on the illicit couple making out in Mitsura-san's pool. Their hair is wet and his hands are large and his lips look soft and—

And.

And it reminds of her the way they almost had it. It reminds of her the things that were almost there—the kiss, a relationship, her declaration.

She walks back into the midst of the crowd and grabs another drink from the punch bowl. There's definitely alcohol in it—Watanabe, that meat-head, thought he was slick with sneaking sake into the punch—but that's okay. Because it's okay. Because she's going to get nice and happy and then her throat won't be so tight and she won't feel the open void anymore.

She drinks.

And drinks.

And another.

One more.

Halfway.

Oops.

The punch bowl has been knocked over to the side and she is dancing amongst the girls, laughing and giggling, and hands running over bodies. Her skin is warm, her cheeks are warm, but her mind is clear and this is fucking fantastic.

* * *

**.**

_I never want to ask a lot of you, and maybe it's too late to be saying that, but I need you to tell me. Tell me, please, what the color of forgetting is._

_I'll try to remember._

* * *

**.**

She's sitting at the base of the swing set, her sandals knocked over in the sand and a half-eaten onigiri in her hand. Her head hurts, and not in the good way. Her stomach is empty after all the vomiting she's been doing. Somewhere off in the bushes some animals will be the unfortunate witnesses of the greenish mess. Just thinking about it—Amu covers her mouth and swallows the acidic bile back down.

Nagihiko shakes his head. "Don't hold it down. Let it come up."

_No, no, no. Don't say those words._

"Honestly, Amu, a little drunk is fine, but you were totally smacked."

She chuckles dryly. "The 'cool and spicy' Hinamori Amu doesn't get shit-face drunk. She knows how to handle it."

"Not tonight she didn't."

"Whatever, shut up already—your voice hurts my head." But that's mean. She opens her lips to take it back but Nagihiko stops talking and Amu feels like a terrible person.

It starts to rain. Amu looks up at the summer night sky, blinking rapidly as raindrops fall onto her face. They're soaked in moments but it doesn't matter. Around them is thunder and lightning and the world is showing its secrets to them and only them.

She wants to tell him that she wishes the rain would seep into her and clean out the ache, but he has her hand and they're off towards his house.

She doesn't mind. She can't mind when she's there.

* * *

**.**

He returns to his bedroom with a sandwich and iced tea. Amu is sitting on his bed, wearing a shirt of his and eating ramen he bought for her on their way back. They're dry again.

He asks, "Besides the vomiting, how was the party?"

"Pretty cool." A moment of silence later, she laughs awkwardly. "I watched his couple…make out and I was kind of…I kind of wanted…." She can't finish her sentence. She isn't sure what's supposed to come after that. What words will fit?

Lonely isn't it; but free isn't either.

"Ah. Well, after I cleaned and took care of my other errands, I watched this cool movie about this guy who met his clone. The clone was trying to kill the original guy to become him, become the perfect him."

"If only some of us were so lucky to be remade in the perfect image."

"Not really. The clone succeeded, but I was surprised at how hard the clone had it. He couldn't adjust to the original guy's life because…it wasn't a life anyone would want to live. He was poor and his girlfriend was dying and he was alone. It kind of opened your eyes about the subject."

Amu frowns. "Let's not talk about this anymore."

"Why not? I think you should see it."

Amu wants to shout out at him—"Stop being the Nagihiko that I need!"—but she doesn't. She just eats the rest of the ramen.

"It's an eye-opening movie. It touches on the idea of perfection—we are willing to go so far to become perfect but destroy ourselves in the process." His jaw is tight because that movie wasn't easy for him to watch. But he braved through it.

He just wishes….

"Well I don't want to be perfect and I never tried to be." He wonders about that, but leaves it alone. Amu stands and claps her hands twice. The room goes dark and suddenly she can breathe again. Her fingers pull the shirt upwards and off of her body until she is in nothing but her panties.

She wants Nagihiko to look her way.

She doesn't know. She doesn't know anymore.

She doesn't want to know anymore.

"Nagihiko." She says his name huskily, dripping with want. As she walks over to him, she thinks about how this is what they want. She _does_ want this. Because this is the only thing in her life that she's certain of.

_"I love you, Amu."_

She pulls him out of his chair and onto the tatami floor. She doesn't allow him to have the time to think or tell her to stop, because he's never going to. She straddles him, making sure the warmth between her legs is very noticeable.

"_I'll be back for you."_

This is what she can be certain off—the feel of his muscles, his skin, his manhood, his tongue swirling around hers.

Memory is an unreliable bastard.

"_Just wait for me."_

She can feel the tears trying to break through to the surface. But she won't let him. She kisses him harder, grinds her bottom against his hips and grins when his body rises to the occasion.

She pulls away for a faint moment and sits up, letting his brown eyes drink in her slim build and round breasts.

"Feel me, Nagihiko."

He meets her command tenfold.

They're lost in those red clouds of lust, of animalistic need to release.

But reality is still under their feet.

* * *

**.**

She watches him sleep. Her fingers skim over his jaw, over his parted lips. They're a little dry but still so warm. His hair is splayed across the pillow and his lean chest rises and falls. Her eyes drink in the way the summer moon illuminates the sinewy muscles of his body; a dancer's body. His lashes are long, his boyish features surely gone.

Crickets hum in the background.

If an outsider were looking at them, Amu thinks, they'd see two lovers sleeping after a night of passion. They'd think they'd have a complex history of a boy and a girl that overcame hardships to be with one another.

Surely they couldn't understands. Lovers—never.

There are a few things Amu is certain of—the gods, the sensation of touch (oh, yes, she was certain of that), and Ami's divine right to annoy the hell out of her.

But love was uncertain and fickle and always chose the wrong people.

She's in love.

Amu rolls onto her side so her back is pressed to his side. She shuts her eyes. She is in love, but not with Nagihiko. He is just that—nothing more, nothing less. And maybe everything, because this is what she wants. Correction—what they want. He can't be the Nagihiko she needs because that will break her.

She's already cracked.

Amu can't stand the way her heart throbs. It's suffocating; it hurts.

The rain pours, and her cheeks grow wet.

"Ikuto…"

* * *

**.**

Nagihiko peeks open an eye, then the other, and listens to the beetles and Amu's cries. It's early morning. The sun is beginning to rise—he can see the light orange hues casting over his home.

They're close friends (that's kind of an understatement) and maybe he should roll over and hug her close. Because that's the Nagihiko he truly is.

But not the Nagihiko she wants.

That would jeopardize the boundaries of their relationship—nothing more, nothing less.

He closes his eyes and pretends like he doesn't hear her.

* * *

**.**

Brown orbs open wide as he shoots up in the bed. He can't breathe—or rather, he can't catch his breath. His chest heaves, lungs burning. A fine sheen of sweat covers his face and torso, his indigo hair strayed this way and that. Surely from the eyes of others he's worthy—but this is not the look of seduction.

His eyes are wide and wild. Fear overflows in them. A fear of his demons, his nightmares, his reality. He grips at his hair, hands shaking, and shuts his eyes to catch his breath.

He needs to hold onto reality.

Once he can breathe again, he notices that the side of the bed that once contained Amu is empty. There's a folded piece of pastel blue paper on the pillow. He runs a hand through his knotted locks as he grabs the paper. A note is scribbled out in her handwriting.

_Nagihiko,_

_I went back home. I didn't want my parents worrying, although I could've easily lied my way out of it. I'll be back over later._

_Also…thanks._

_Amu_

He stares at the "also…thanks" for quite a while. He wonders what that can possibly mean. He shakes his head, crumples the paper, and throws it into the trash.

He shuts his eyes. He needs release. He needs to forget. And Amu isn't here to help him.

* * *

**.**

Ask Nagihiko what color he hates and he will hesitate. Because he hates black and he hates red. Because red is too bright, too harsh like pain. And black is an array of that pain, darkened and ugly just like him.

* * *

**.**

If Amu hated a color the most, it will be white and it will be blue. Because white is so pure, nothing like she'll ever be. And blue—

Well. It's self-explanatory.

* * *

**.**

_It must be a blessing to have amnesia,_ he thinks as he enters the grocery store. Nagihiko is wise beyond his years but pain is pain and he wants an out. He smiles at Mrs. Takama, the wife of the store's owner, and grabs a shopping basket from the rack.

"Alright, let's see…" He looks at his list and heads towards the last aisle. He'll work from the back to the front, as he always does.

He grabs a bag of rice, miso, shredded beef and vegetables. He twists the cord of his headphones around his finger, staring at his crimson fingertip as the blood collects there, as he waits for his salmon to be gutted and cleaned. He gets a half-pound of cheese and ground pork. He grabs cooking wine, seasonings, and then some bread. When flour falls onto the ground and spills out, he hastily leaves the aisle. After that he gets milk and eggs and smiles at the women whose eyes undress him.

He's never been one for stares.

As he walks down the aisle to the checkout lines, he catches a lingering scent of blossoms. It's light but pungent, noticeable. It reminds him of when the cherry blossoms are in blooming season and how the air always smells fresh and light.

He proceeds to the self-checkout. A girl is already there. She swipes food across the scanner, the automatic voice repeating what she scanned and the price. She's nearly done; all that's left is to manually pay for the fruits she's picked up.

Nagihiko looks at the screen of his cell phone. Mother will be home in three hours. He still has to prepare dinner as well as continue practicing the Fujisaki traditional dance. He looks back at the girl. She's standing there, a paper in her hand.

The fruits still haven't been paid for.

He sucks in a breath and lightly taps her shoulder. She gives him a side glance, her wheat-colored curls shielding the majority of her face. But her eyes are large and golden even if they are glaring at him with frozen intensity. Nagihiko swallows but puts on his best smile. "Are you having trouble? Would you like some help?

She doesn't answer. She just looks back at the fruits and then, hesitantly, punches them in. Soon she is paying for them and bagging the groceries. Nagihiko puts his basket onto the table.

She's walking away. Her dress is white. She's rather small, he notices.

She stops. She looks back at him. He's taken aback by the way she's staring but doesn't let it show. He smiles.

She asks, "What's the name of this grocery store again?"

"Ah…Takama's. Didn't you see it outside?"

"I can't remember."

He can understand. He knows that people don't really pay attention to certain details. That's how things end up sloppy. That's how guys get their heart broken when their girlfriends call them "adequate." He chuckles.

"Well, it's called Takama's."

Suddenly she puts down the groceries and reaches into her purse to pull out a notepad and a phone. She scribbles down what he said with intense focus. She puts it away and walks out of the store.

Nagihiko stares at her groceries in disbelief. "Did she…?"

He runs after her.

"Miss! Miss!" She looks back at him, glaring. The wind blows her curls and the light scent is stronger now that he's closer to her. She's so small. "You forgot your groceries!" And hopefully his won't be taken.

"What groceries?"

Nagihiko must think it's a blessing to have amnesia. He stares at her long and hard, brows coming together in frustration.

"The groceries I saw you bag and pay for."

"Oh…I don't remember that."

* * *

A/N: I'm going to let you all know in on a little secret—Rima has amnesia. But a specific type. What type? Well, you'll find out as the story continues. I also hope this chapter shed some light on the relationship between Nagihiko and Amu. More will come to light about them individually and together, as well as Rima and, maybe, Ikuto. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

~Meme


	3. Day 1 - 2

_Day 1.2_

* * *

**.**

There's something floating that she hates. She hates it a lot. More than everyone else does, really.

But she can't remember what.

* * *

**.**

Rima awakens, blinks a few times, and looks around. The room is barren and white, plain and more complex than necessary. She rubs her neck—she's must've slept on it wrong because the cramp is painful—and tries to figure out what's going on. Because she doesn't know. Maybe some part of her should be bothered by that, but Rima feels nothing. A big, empty nothingness fills the space in her mind. It's like a thick, unmoving fog.

She's floating along the river. She may round the bend but she always ends up in the same place—never moving forward.

"It's hot." Her nightshirt—an old button-down of her father's—sticks to her back and her underarms. Her legs are sticky and her brow is lined with sweat. Her curls are tighter than she would like—they're a pain to comb out. She groans and falls back onto the bed, hands covering her eyes.

There has to be something there—anything, a little snippet—but's there's nothing. Her hands fall onto the sheets, tangling and tangling.

She feels hollow, and she doesn't know why.

* * *

**.**

When she looks back, she can see everyone, everything—Mama, Papa, _everything._

When she looks forward—

nothing.

* * *

**.**

Rima pulls on shorts and a tank top and combs out her wet hair before tying it up into a bun. Loose strands surround her round face, amber eyes scanning the length of the house. There are pictures of Mama and Papa and her all around, so maybe this is really her house.

Which isn't the same thing as a home, but still.

When she walks downstairs and enters the living room, Mama is on the couch. She is asleep, cheeks wet with tears. There's an empty bottle of sake on the ground. The television is on one of those infomercial channels—the latest detergent imported from Sweden is all mothers can talk about! Rima fans her face and picks up the bottle from the ground.

Her mother turns over. Her shoulders tremble.

Rima stares at the bottle and wonders just why her mother drank the entire thing.

* * *

**.**

Sometimes, she tries really hard. The memories have to be there.

Otherwise, where have they gone?

* * *

**.**

Mashiro Haruka wants to die. Die in the sense that she's too far gone for anyone to take the time to make sure she's okay. She's nearly forty and she's got nothing more to live for. It seems like an easy way out—just die and give up her space on Earth for someone a bit more deserving, someone who might do great things in the world.

Like discover a cure for cancer; or how to end world hunger; or how to repair the brain in your teenage daughter's skull so she can actually remember something for once.

Wouldn't _that_ be a miracle.

But miracles are called miracles for a reason—it's a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, and surely some poor other loser took away the last of them. Probably to save their dying childhood friend or something.

Haruka is well aware that Rima knows who she is, and who her mother is, and who her father is—well, was—and all that crap. But not being able to remember that this is their new house or that she actually has to go to school and that…that—

Haruka slams a fist onto the tiled kitchen counter and allows the painful throbbing to drive her forward. She is storming through the house, grabbing random things, and entering the living room. Rima is just there, watching the television mindlessly. Haruka recognizes the show—it's some comedy show, one that started just yesterday. The pilot episode is being shown again.

Perfect.

"Rima," she asks slowly, "do you like this show?"

She shrugs. "It's alright."

"You know, you were giggling at the jokes yesterday."

Rima feels like this conversation between her and her mother isn't happening just for the sake of small talk. Her mother lost her poker face quite a while ago. Every so now and then she'll bring something up and they'll talk about it and Rima will always be left feeling more confused than normally because she can't understand why her mother always looks so distraught. Are the answers to her questions not good enough?

She sighs.

"Was I?" Rima began to flip through the channels, stretching her toes and staring at the chipping paint. "I don't remember watching this."

"You watched it just last night."

Rima just shakes her head no. Her mother leaves right away, loud clattering making Rima jump. But she stays there.

Haruka thinks it would be better for her if she just died. She's far too gone for anyone to worry over her, and it's not like her amnesia-ridden daughter will understand why she wants to die either.

She's taking up too much space.

* * *

**.**

Rima is painting her fingernails blue and her toenails orange and she thinks about what she did yesterday and can't remember it so she goes back to painting and tries not to remember the mournful look on her mother's face.

* * *

**.**

This is the third time this month they've been to Doctor Kurosawa's office. And Rima knows that because her mother's yelling about it right now. He's a doctor specialized in the brain, neurology, all that stuff. He speaks calmly and in a low voice while Rima's mother and scream and screams for a cure.

He pushes his glasses to sit atop his head, wipes his eyes, and then pulls them back onto his face. He looks at her fuming mother sympathetically, and Rima can only imagine what words will come out of his mouth this time.

"I'm quite sorry, Mrs. Mashiro, but I've performed numerous tests on Rima and the results further proved my diagnosis. She has anterograde amnesia. I'm afraid that's something I cannot prescribe any medicine for because amnesia, especially such a rare type, is such an intricate illness that it's impossible for us to research it accurately enough to _create_ a medicine for it."

"That's not fucking good enough!" Rima is sure everyone outside his office can hear the anger in her mother's voice. She's too loud. It hurts her ears. She diverts her attention to the window and notices the approaching migration of black clouds. "My daughter is fucking clueless and you can't do anything about it?"

"The best thing I can suggest for you is to develop a routine. I believe the best way to help Rima remember new people she meets and other new experiences is for her to keep a journal, to take pictures of everyone she meets, and to write down information. It's not the best system, and she'll have to find a way to make it truly work, but I believe it can be a step in the right direction."

Rima stares long and hard at the black clouds, wondering when they'll go home. Wherever that is.

* * *

**.**

_Rima, dearest Rima, can't you remember me?_

_Even a smidge?_

_Not at all?_

_What a shame._

_Nothing, nothing, nothing at all._

* * *

**.**

The next morning, she awakens in her bed with her eyes narrowed. She's trying to figure out whose plain white walls these belong to, whose blue curtains those are. She tries to register it all as she pushes her sheets off her petite form and throws her legs over the side of the bed. She rubs crust out of her eyes and pulls her hair back into its bun.

There's a camera on the nightstand. And a notepad. And a note. It reads—

_Rima,_

_This routine will take effect immediately. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to live with a daughter who can't remember when I tell her things to do and they don't get done. I can't take it. So take pictures of every place you've been to and every person you meet and write down important information about these places and these people._

_Don't lose these. Every night, you are to put the camera and notepad right back here and you are to leave this note here, too._

_Mom_

Rima stares at the camera and the notepad again and thinks that whatever her mother has planned is absolutely ridiculous. She thinks it's a waste of time. She doesn't even know why her mother is going to such lengths to do this. She sighs, picks at a loose curl, and leaves her bedroom to figure out just where the hell she is.

* * *

**.**

"Rima, I need you to go to the grocery store for me."

"…alright."

"The grocer there is shopping for us. All you have to do is follow the instructions I gave you. And be sure to take a picture of Takama's as well as the grocer and the store owners, alright?"

"…alright."

"And please try to remember something for once. I can't do it all by myself."

"…alright."

* * *

**.**

So that's how she ends up at the grocery store, swiping groceries across a scanner and trying not to pull out her hair. She's been good about taking pictures even if the people were uncomfortable and even if she received strange looks.

This is the sacrifice for memories, she thinks.

It's ridiculous the lengths her mother goes to for something that's not her fault. What causes anterograde amnesia anyways? She shakes her head and keeps her eyes focused on the groceries and the list and checking it twice.

There's a guy waiting to use the line. All that's left are the fruits.

She hesitates. The fruits still haven't been paid for.

Rima glances around, eyes narrowed at everyone and everything. What's going on? Why is she in a grocery store? Why is this list in her hand and why is she even here? What is she doing? She doesn't understand. She doesn't—

There's a light tap to her shoulder. She swallows and gives him a side glance, her hair falling in front of her face. She wants to push the annoying curls back but her limbs don't respond to the will of her mind. She glares at him, at his short indigo hair and his calm smile. He nods his head towards the unpaid fruits. She glances at them and then back at him.

"Are you having trouble? Would you like some help?"

No, she wouldn't like help. Because Rima may be small in stature but she's not helpless. She's not and quite frankly she's not going to be treated like some doll. So, even if it's going to be extremely difficult, she's going to make a routine that'll work.

She'll show them.

She doesn't answer him. She just looks back at the fruits and then, hesitantly, punches them in. Soon she is paying for them and bagging the groceries. The guy puts his basket onto the table.

Rima walks away with the groceries in her hands. The weight is especially noticeable in her shoulders.

Suddenly, she stops. She looks back at him. He seems startled when she suddenly does but maybe now is the perfect time to try and implement the routine. Maybe she can make it work.

Before she forgets this.

With intense focus, she asks him, "What's the name of this grocery store again?"

"Ah…Takama's. Didn't you see it outside?"

She blurts out the truth, "I can't remember."

He chuckles. He puts some of his groceries into a bag. "Well, it's called Takama's."

Suddenly the groceries are on the ground and she's fumbling through her purse to grab the notepad and her phone. Rima is furiously scribbling down the name of the store. When she succeeds a small smile graces her lips but doesn't last for long. She looks down at the groceries, wondering who left them there, and then puts away the items in her hand.

She walks out of the store.

Near the crosswalk, she hears someone shouting. Turning around in curiosity, she sees a young guy running towards her. There are bags of groceries in his hands. When he stops before her, she glares down at him; he's panting, hard. Who is this guy?

"You forgot your groceries!"

"What groceries?" Rima is pretty sure she never bought any groceries.

He stares at her long and hard, brows coming together in frustration.

"The groceries I saw you bag and pay for."

Rima thinks this guy is crazy. But, giving him the benefit of the doubt, she answers, "Oh…I don't remember buying any groceries."

* * *

A/N: It was _extremely _difficult to make this chapter come out the way I wanted it to. But I finally accomplished it so…yay. From now on it'll be many perspectives; these first two chapters were just important. And school is over so I'll be writing more.

Anyways. Enough of my rambling.

Read and review and I'll see you guys next chapter!


	4. Day 2

_Day 2_

* * *

**.**

Nagihiko turns slightly, arm extending forward, fan opening. He moves his wrist so his palm and fingers are pointing up, his left arm moving in a windmill motion to meet the other hand in the same position. He bows his head, steps back, and does a complete spin. The hand wielding the fan goes up, the petal on the fan almost an extension of his fingers.

He is breathing deeply, eyes never once meeting his mother's hardened gaze.

Fujisaki Miyako allows herself the moment to reflect on her son's performance. His posture was better than expected; his fan work was also appealing. Still, he did not capture the grace and beauty of a woman in the dance.

This leaves a dissatisfied taste in her mouth.

"Again, Nagihiko."

He wants to sigh. He wants to sigh. He wants to sigh because he's _so_ fucking tired. His back hurts from wearing this kimono and the dance studio is hot.

"Mother, please—"

"Again, Nagihiko."

He knows what happens if he does not comply. She will turn into a monster. He doesn't like monsters.

He starts in the beginning position.

* * *

**.**

Amu traces circles on Nagihiko's back with a finger, resisting the urge to lean in and kiss his neck. He's tired today and won't do that to him. He won't be able to resist after all. Once the ache in her joints is gone, she continues massaging his shoulders. She likes the feel of his sinewy muscles in her hands. He sighs and groans when she works out his knots.

His home is sweltering. The central air system that keeps the mansion cool is broken; the repairmen are eating watermelon with his mother.

"I take it practice was a killer?"

He opens his eyes then, allowing himself to see his legs and the summer green trees outside. "An understatement." Because it is an understatement and how he hates practice. He can never get tired of dance—it's a part of him, all of him and everything around him inspires a performance within his mind.

But.

But Nagihiko can live without the fucking practice.

He doesn't want to think about this anymore. The memories are crawling out of their dark corner, like hot tar engulfing his entire being. He inhales as he leans forward, pulling away from Amu's touch. She fixes the straps on her tank top and looks up at him through her pink lashes. He's staring down at her. There's a protruding bump in his pants.

"I've been holding myself back," he says. "Please."

Amu feels she should be blushing. She should look away from the bulge and say something girlish like, "B-But we can't! Your mom!" But she doesn't and instead crawls forward and rests on her knees and unzips his pants with her teeth and takes all of him into her mouth and grins at his sighs.

His hands are on her head, coaxing her to do it the way he likes it. Nagihiko can feel the warmth of her tongue and throat and—_oh, fuck,_ she's a good girl..

This is what makes it easier.

* * *

**.**

Amu puts on lip balm as they walk through the park. Nagihiko is rather quiet; she doesn't understand why. Well, there are a lot of things she doesn't understand. A lot of things she wants answers to. She wants to know the secrets of her world because it's too confusing.

"What's wrong?" she asks, pulling her sunglasses back onto her nose. The sun is bright today.

Nagihiko wonders what Amu would think. He's curious to know how she would react. So he says, "Two days ago I met a girl who bought groceries, bagged and paid for them, and then left them after asking me what store she was in."

"She didn't know?"

"Nope. And here's the twist—I grabbed her groceries, ran to go give them to her, and she said she didn't remember buying groceries at all."

"…that's strange."

"It's crazy. My curiosity got the better of me and I researched her symptoms. After all, it's not every day you meet someone who doesn't remember buying enough groceries to feed three families."

They spread a blanket under the sakura grove, looking up at the fruits of summer. The breeze is starting to come in, thank goodness. They sit, their sandals on the grass and Amu's legs strewn across his. He rubs them, tracing patterns onto her lightly tanned skin.

"Maybe she was hungover."

"I don't think so." He scoffs. "I know hungover people—" Amu makes a face "—and she wasn't."

"Well what did you find, detective?"

"A rare form of amnesia called anterograde amnesia. It's basically that you're incapable of forming new memories." Amu's brows rise; she's genuinely curious now. "She can remember everything that happened before the incident that gave her the amnesia."

"Wow…" Amu puts her sunglasses into her tote bag and pulls out two pieces of gum. She gives one to Nagihiko. "I wonder what happened to her that gave her the amnesia."

"It said that it most commonly happens from a surgical procedure."

"But what kind of incident does one have to be in that surgery messes you up? Why would doctors be messing around in your brain?"

"I don't know. I'm curious to know, too. But I doubt even she would know."

Amu scratches her head and then at her neck. A small green bug is on the side of her finger. She turns, blows it away, and then wipes her hand on her shorts. She is about to speak up again when she notices a girl walking their way.

"Hello," says the girl. Nagihiko recognizes her: it's the girl from the supermarket, the center of their conversation. She's wearing a strapless floral dress with sandals and a white sunhat atop her blonde curls. The two greet back with a bow of the head. "I'm sorry for asking this, but do you know what the name of this park is?"

"This park is called Seiyo Park. This part is called Seiyo Sakura Grove," answers Amu.

The girl bows. "Thank you very much." She turns and begins to walk away.

Nagihiko nudges Amu— "That's the girl," he quickly says. "That's her."

"Really?" He nods. "What do you want to do?"

He considers going after her and asking if she remembers meeting him yesterday. He wants to ask her if she remembers anything about buying groceries at Takama's.

"…nothing, really. I wouldn't know what to say to her."

Amu chuckles. "Even though it's mean to say, and true, she probably wouldn't remember anyways."

* * *

**.**

"There you are!"

Rima looks back and finds her mother chasing after her in an apron. She's sweaty and frustrated. Rima opens her mouth to say something but a yelp comes out instead when her mother fiercely slaps her.

"Are you stupid or deaf? Or maybe you're both! I told you to stay inside until you got this fucking routine worked out! But you just like to do whatever the fuck you want, right?"

"…no." The sting of tears is fierce in her eyes, but she won't allow them to spill. "I just…I don't remember you telling me anything like that."

Her mother's eyes widen and then fiercely narrow. Rima is unsure of what reaction her response caused within her mother but knows it's nothing good. That look is nothing good.

"Let's go, now!" Her mother grabs her wrist and drags her the entire way home. When they are there she slaps Rima again and returns to cooking dinner. Rima stands at the base of the stairs, eyes glistening, unsure of where she is or why her cheek hurts or why there are tears in her eyes.

She wishes she knew why her cheek really hurts.

* * *

**.**

"I'm home!" Amu bends down to unbuckle her sandals, relishing in the feel of a working air conditioner. Entering the house, she finds Ami on the phone with a friend, excitedly talking about a new episode of her favorite show. Mama is cutting fruit for a fruit salad. "Where's Papa?"

"He went out to take some pictures."

"For work?" Amu sneaks into the kitchen and steals a piece of kiwi. Mama playfully slaps her hand.

Mama shakes her head as she pours the melon slices into the bowl. "He said today was a perfect day for pictures."

"Ah."

After stealing more fruit, Amu leaves the kitchen to head upstairs to her room. She's in the mood for watching a movie. Maybe she'll watch that one movie Nagihiko told her about, out of morbid curiosity.

"Ah, Amu-chan!" Mama runs out to the bottom of the stairs. "Ikuto-kun called your phone. He left a voice message."

Her throat tightens at the mention of his name. When her mother tilts her head worriedly, Amu forces a nod and a smile and finishes the rest of the stairs to go into her room. Her phone is on the small table, staring right at her. And she wants nothing more than to smother herself and send herself to another place. Because she can't stand knowing that he still has access to her. Because, fuck, she can't stand the beat of her heart.

She grabs the phone, opens the voice message, rests her head on the edge of her bed as she listens to his voice.

He inhales—it's like he's right next to her.

"Hey, it's me. I know we haven't spoken in a while—well, a _long_ while. And maybe that's because no matter how many texts or emails or voice messages I leave you, you won't answer me. You've shut me out, Pinky, and I'd like to know why.

"I don't know what's going on, but you're old enough now to know that when something is wrong you have to speak up, even if it's going to hurt. And if it is going to hurt, Amu, I'm here to make it go away. Just tell me. I may not be physically there, but I'm here for you. Whenever you need me. I told you that, right? I hope you haven't forgotten.

"And don't forget—"

_No, please!_

"—that I love you. I'll see you soon."

Amu crumbles so fucking hard.

* * *

**.**

Rima is bored. She's stuck inside this house—the house her mother made sure to let her know that this was their new house—with nothing to do but this assignment. Figure out the routine, her mother says in this note. And then she'll be allowed outside again. Because unless she can figure it out she's not ready to go outside.

Rima sighs and falls onto the couch, shutting her eyes and allowing herself the chance to procrastinate. She'll take the heat from her mother later.

* * *

**.**

_Amu is being rough today, _Nagihiko notes. Amu is on top of him, hips swirling and bouncing as she works. Her hands are around his throat, words of lust and pure physical attraction pouring out of her mouth. Not that he minds. He can take a hint. He plays into her game, because it's fun sometimes. Sometimes it's not always about the benefits; sometimes he actually enjoys this.

Which begs the question: does he not always enjoy it?

"Fuck, Nagihiko!" Amu collapses backwards, legs trembling as orgasmic bliss rockets through her. She lifts herself off his still throbbing manhood and helps him feel blinding white euphoria.

When they're finished, she's kissing his collar bone and running her fingers over his skin. She loves his body, how lean and taut the muscles are. He's thin but he's quite strong. "Mmm…" she purrs into his chest.

Nagihiko knows he's crossing into cleared-off territory, but his curiosity has gotten the better of him. And Amu is his friend, one of his closest friends, so it only makes sense to ask. Right?

"Amu, what's bothering you?"

She doesn't expect this. Her eyes open and she looks up at him, confusion lining her golden eyes. "I don't understand…"

"No, _I_ don't understand." He sits up, forcing her to sit up as well. "The sex was great—don't misunderstand me—but I noticed that you were rougher than usual when we have rough sex." Not that he minded, because it felt just as good. He just wants to know.

She looks down at her naked thighs and then at her exposed breasts and suddenly feels that much dirtier. What would others think if they knew of the nature of the relationship between her and Nagihiko? What would—

—_what would Ikuto think?_

Amu grows angry and immediately stands up, hurrying to cloth herself. Nagihiko sighs. He knew she shouldn't have asked in the first place. But she—they—can't bounce around their issues. Sometimes it'll help to talk, right?

"Amu, wait."

"I'm not waiting."

"I didn't mean to upset you." He stands and dons his boxers and shirt. Amu is trying to clip her bra back into place but when she can't she angrily tosses it across the room and covers her face with her hands. Her anger, her frustrations, her hatred, rockets through her body. "I was just—"

"I didn't ask for your fucking sympathy, Nagihiko! If I did, I-I would've told you already!" There are tears in her face and on her cheeks. "I just use you for sex and that's it! Okay?"

He sighs. "Okay."

Amu leaves and he looks at his messy bed with disdain. He hates the used condoms; he hates the little stains. He hates how Amu's striped pink bra is an eyesore in his bedroom.

But he's never going to change it. At least, not until he can figure out a more effective way of forgetting.

* * *

**.**

He wakes up early that morning. He showers, changes his sheets, cleans his room. He puts Amu's bra into his book bag because he's going over to her house later and he's sure she'd like it back; he knows it's one of her favorites. He eats boiled eggs, rice, and miso soup for breakfast. He stretches, practices a few ballet techniques under the rising sun.

He's about to leave when he sees a message on the voice receiver. It's from his mother. "Nagihiko, I've found a job for you. I think it's time you've experienced the adult world, since you are 18 and will be graduating high school this year. I've called and set up an interview for you tomorrow at 3. Call this number tomorrow to confirm." He writes down the number and then deletes the message.

"A personal assistant to Mashiro Haruka's daughter, hmm?"

* * *

A/N: So far, this is my favorite chapter. I'm happy with how it's turned out. And I'm glad I'm finally able to get the plot ball a-rollin'. (Here's a secret that's not-so-secret: I'm more interested in writing a story with awesome charries than plot).

Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! See you all next time!

~Meme


	5. Day 3

_Day 3_

* * *

**.**

Amu's face explodes into the vicious red of a tomato when Nagihiko pulls her bra out of his book bag. She swipes it out of his hands—thank goodness Ami is in her room—and quickly goes to put it in her laundry. When she returns downstairs she sticks her tongue out at him and hits him with a pillow.

Nagihiko merely laughs. "It's not my fault you forgot essential clothing like that!"

"Oh, shut up!" She pushes back her bubblegum hair and puts her hands on her hips. "Are we making cake or what?"

"We're making cake."

As they're in the kitchen, mixing ingredients and measuring and tasting, Amu can't get Ikuto's voice message out of her head. It's annoying that all she can think about is him. It's annoying how tight her chest grows, how much she yearns for him.

Nagihiko looks at Amu when she suddenly stops mixing the batter. "Amu?" He holds back a gasp when she suddenly holds onto him, fights a smile when her hands slither down his pants. "Your sister is here, remember? You _can_ get pretty loud."

She kisses him deeply. "Shut up and get to it."

* * *

**.**

She twists her pen around in her fingers, eyes carefully observing the candidates as they speak. Their answers to her carefully thought-out questions are important, but Haruka is more interested in their body language, their voice, their entire being. They may _sound _convincing but as a CEO she can smell bullshit the moment it walks into the room. Which is how 50 candidates was down to three in the span of two hours.

Nagihiko sits restlessly in the chair as he waits to be called for the second interview. The other two candidates for the job seem to be much more qualified than him. One is a sophomore in college, who is studying international economics and knows scheduling like he created the idea himself. The other is a senior is high school, like himself, and is much smarter and much more studious than Nagihiko himself.

Some part of him—well, most of him honestly—hopes he doesn't get the job. He wants to disappoint his mother and not have it be his fault. Because when he disappoints on his time, suddenly his urges to smother himself to death are that much stronger. He rubs his neck, swallowing.

The door opens and he watches the other senior walk out, smirking. "Give up now," he says to Nagihiko. "I've got that job already."

Nagihiko smiles at him as he stands. "As you may think. But the results can be different you know." Before he walks inside, he tilts his head mockingly and says, "Arrogance kind of makes you look like shit."

Mashiro Haruka is sitting behind her desk with a cup of coffee in her hands. Her hair is cut short, just touching her chin, and her eyes are sharp and accusatory. Nagihiko bows and sits in the seat before her desk.

"You've impressed me," she says as she puts the coffee down. "You're smart and in the top five of your class. You're also talented. But if that was what I was looking for in the personal assistant, I would've made sure to put those specific credentials in the flyer."

He bows his head again. "Thank you, Mashiro-san."

"But what impressed me was your incredible patience and your willingness to admit defeat." He watched her finely manicured nails tap along her desk. She was a woman of class, wearing an off-shoulder knit dress. "That is what I am looking for. You aren't arrogant and don't expect."

"To be honest, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to get this job."

"You were wrong."

* * *

**.**

Amu can only laugh at how excited Nagihiko is about this job. Just this morning he was complaining about it, questioning whether or not he would even get it. Now he's rambling on and on about how well the interview went and how he even told off some asshole.

"Congrats, Nagihiko."

"Thank you, Amu." He smiles. "Since summer break is still on for another two weeks, I'm going to be working a regular nine-to-five and she's going to pay me 10,000 yen* for every hour."

"Wow, that's amazing!" And Amu genuinely feels excited for him.

But, if anything, it simply reminds her that they are a world apart.

* * *

**.**

He's sitting in a café; it's his favorite in the small, historic town. He sips decaf coffee, four spoons of cream, and finishes a melon and chocolate crepe.

"Ikuto, are you really leaving?" Auden walks up to his table with a saddened smile on her face. Her cheekbones are high, her features narrow, like a model's. _Everyone looks like a model,_ he thinks. But he nods at her question and sighs afterwards.

Auden is a good friend. One of his best, actually. She's never been dishonest and has been brutal when he needed it. She's cheerful and realistic, kind and beautiful. She sits at his table, putting aside her serving tray, and rests her chin atop the back of her right hand.

"I'm going to miss you, y'know," he says with his classic smirk. She laughs. "You'll come to Japan, right?"

"Around the holiday I will." She grins. "I want to experience a Japanese New Years, kimono and all." He can imagine her in a kimono—it would suit her. "And Amu? Does she knew you're coming back?"

He shakes his head. "No one knows. It's a surprise."

"I'm sure she'll be happy."

Ikuto snorts. "That's where you and I differ, Auden."

She sighs, annoyed. She remembers the many conversations she's had with Ikuto, trying to convince him that Amu hasn't forgotten him and that she's still growing.

"Even though you two haven't spoken much, that doesn't mean you can't rekindle. Distance does that; I'd know." Right. He always forgets that her boyfriend is off in Ireland. "Distance's a bitch, but she won't love you any less."

And he hopes to God that she's right.

* * *

**.**

Admittedly, he's nervous. Nagihiko should have no reason to be nervous because Miss Mashiro likes him and he wouldn't be here if she didn't. He arrives at the front of the house and notices how large it is. It's nowhere close to the size of his home but it is large and modern.

He presses the doorbell. Then he yawns, because he's tired today. Amu and he stayed up a little too late fooling around last night. But who is he kidding? It was well worth it.

"Who is it?"

"Fujisaki-san."

There's a small buzz and the gate pops open. He walks inside, closes it behind him, and is greeted with Miss Mashiro opening the front door. He bows politely. He enters, removes his shoes at the _genkan,_ and excuses himself as he enters their home.

It's a modern house with stylistic features and latest technology. He can hear the laughter of a simulated crowd.

Miss Mashiro leads him down the hall and sits him in the kitchen. She pours him a cup of tea and Nagihiko graciously takes it.

"Now," she begins, "I've already informed you that my daughter has a condition." Just the mere thought of it makes anger form in her head. She breathes to calm herself down.

"Yes." He can remember the way her eyes narrowed when she said it.

"Specifically, she has anterograde amnesia." When Nagihiko's eyes widen, Haruka raises a brow. "What is it?"

"It's just—" He puts his cup of tea down "—last week I met a girl who had anterograde amnesia. At the grocery store. And I saw her again at the park."

"Was she blonde?" He nods. "Well then you've already met my daughter, Mashiro Rima."

* * *

**.**

Amu mutters under her breath when she messes up her middle finger on her right hand. Lefties sure do have it easy being able to paint their right hands flawlessly. She sighs but continues painting the rest of her nails a summer yellow. She'll fixi t after the rest of her nails are painted.

That's when she thinks about her and Nagihiko and how he's not here and how thoughts of that violin-playing bastard are creeping into her head again and—

—fuck, she's so broken.

* * *

**.**

Nagihiko's never been one to believe in coincidences. It's the hands of the gods, undoubtedly, that have entwined their threads. Once at the grocery store; again at the park; and now he's her personal assistant. What are the chances of that happening?

_There are no coincidences._

It's almost one. Lunch has been prepared for today but tomorrow he will have to make it for her. She's quiet, mostly sitting with her knees drawn up to her body. She always tells him to turn when there's a television show on, unless it's comedy. She likes comedy.

Nagihiko turns the channel again and commercials are on. He's experienced her amnesia—when they first introduced themselves to one another and she asked what his name was three times; when she went to her room for a moment and came back down and nearly called the police. Good thing her mother makes him carry around his contract.

Rima sighs. She twirls a curl around her finger. She gazes at him, eyes scanning his entirety.

"So…what do you do for fun?" He laughs at the question and Rima grows annoyed by this. "I don't see what's so funny about a question."

"Just the way you asked it I suppose." He clears his throat; she sure is snippy. "I like to dance."

She snorts. "A guy that enjoys dancing. You don't hear _that_ every day."

And he can only agree with her on that.

_"You should've been a girl."_

_"How can you live with yourself knowing you dress up like a girl? That's fucking pathetic."_

He swallows hard and pushes away the memories. If only Amu were here—then the forgetting would be that much easier. But she's not and he's working right now and—

"Who the hell are you?"

* * *

**.**

Rima doesn't really understand what's going on. All she knows is that he has a contract with her mom to watch over her. They're eating tempura and onigiri together in the living room. He's straightforward with his answers to her questions. He has hazel eyes and indigo hair and maybe she can actually remember his name—Fujisaki Nagihiko—for a bit longer.

But she can't. And when she sees him grabbing the plates, she glares death at him. Because how does he know her name and then she sees the contract on the table.

Rima doesn't really understand what's going on.

* * *

**.**

_I should be sleeping._

After all he's going to experience serious jet lag when he returns home. Catching up on sleep will help some. He just can't. He's restless. He can only think of her pink hair, the shine in her eyes, the way her name sounds coming out of his mouth and the warmth of her fingers.

Ikuto, as it seems, can be quite overzealous.

* * *

**.**

Nagihiko tries not to run to Amu's house but he fails and is sweaty by the time he gets there. Her mother answers the door but quickly lets him in because she just adores him.

Mr. Hinamori greets Nagihiko with, surprisingly, a smile. Ami hugs him despite his sweatiness.

"Ah—I apologize for intruding, but I need to speak to Amu. Is she here?"

"She's in the shower right now."

"Onii-chan, why don't you play a game with me?" asks Ami.

Nagihiko rubs her head. "In a bit, I promise. I have some things I have to take care of first." He runs a hand through his hair. He comes up with an excuse. "Is it alright if I go up into her room? Something very important is up there."

"Ah, sure. Just be sure to leave when she comes up so she can get dressed."

"Of course." He bows and hurries up the stairs. He closes the doors.

A few minutes later, Amu is entering the room in a polka-dotted towel. Her damp hair rests on her shoulders. Nagihiko faces her, inhaling and exhaling rhythmically. She closes the door.

They approach each other.

He roughly yanks her towel away. "You're actually wearing those joke panties I bought you." They're white and lacy and transparent, leaving him with the pleasure of the sight of her sex.

Amu grins, because she wants this badly. "I knew you'd come."

They collapse into one another, tongues coiling around tongues. Hands grab at one another, feeling their skin and making the other sigh with pleasure. At first she's bent over her desk, feeling him enter her over and over and over again. Then he presses her against her balcony doors, murmuring filthy words of the neighbors being able to see him roughly take her. Her leg is over his shoulder in front of her mirror and he tells her to watch him fuck her senseless. Amu takes him into her mouth. He grabs her, thrusts inside of her as he forces her to walk to her bedroom door.

He presses her against the door in the midst of her escapades, telling her she better be quiet or her family will hear them fucking around.

A shiver runs down her spin and she moans loudly.

* * *

**.**

He always forgets how small Japan is when they fly over it. The lights illuminate this little piece of the world. He can feel the longing for home filling his body with its ethereal warmth. He's more than glad to be home.

As the plane is landing, he wonders about how Utau is doing. He rolls his eyes at the thought of her and that ginger soccer player still being together; he's going to enjoy calling her a cougar. Then there's Tadase. He's undoubtedly grown—when he visited for a week last year, Tadase's voice was deeper. And he was just a few inches shorter than Ikuto, who was nearly six-four.

And then there's Amu. Ikuto, who's probably a secret masochist, doesn't allow himself the pleasure of thinking about her. She fills his heart. Seeing her again, face-to-face, will be enough.

He waits restlessly for his turn to exit the plane.

* * *

**.**

Rima has a thing for airports. It's the ultimate sign of freedom, of dropping everything to explore a new place. To maybe never come back. She likes watching those grand beasts take off and soar high into the sky. It fills her with a longing to be on one of those planes, going to a place she's never been before.

She yawns and shuffles behind her mother as they walk over to the waiting area of the appropriate gate. She's wearing her pajamas—a t-shirt and sweatpants. Rima doesn't really care. After all it's almost one in the morning.

"Did the flight come in already?"

"Yes." Rima watches her mother pick up a magazine and flip through the pages. She makes a comment every now and then or takes a picture of something she finds worthy of her tastes.

Rima eyes the gate.

She can remember the last time they were in France. It was about a year ago, when things weren't so damaged. He was there, standing atop the edge of a grand fountain and playing his violin. He was tall but his focus on that instrument was excellent. The notes he played were filled with bittersweet memories, sounds that Rima could connect with all too well.

She wants him to play that song again.

Finally, people flow from within the gate. They don't bother standing up; he's the tallest one amongst the bunch. He spots them easily, his white violin case bumping against his shoulder. A carry on trails behind him.

He approaches them. Her mother stands up and offers Ikuto a hug. He hugs back, kisses her cheek. "It's nice to see you again, Mashiro-san."

"Haruka," she scolds. "You're an adult—I told you it was fine to call me that."

"Right, of course." His attention is then diverted to Rima. When she stands to greet him, he chuckles. She glares at him. "Wow, you haven't grown an inch pipsqueak."

She punches him in the stomach.

* * *

A/N: And there you have it. Rima and Ikuto know each other. How do they know each other? We'll find out as the story goes along. ;D

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! See you guys next chapter!

~Meme


	6. Day 4

_Day 4_

* * *

**.**

Ikuto walks out of the bathroom dressed in his pajamas. He's going to sleep for a long time to adjust back to Japan's time. Haruka is asleep, since she still has a job to go to. When he walks out into the living room, he's surprised to see Rima flipping through channels. It's summer but still—isn't she tired?

"What're you doing up, pipsqueak?"

She looks up at him and her eyes widen. "Ikuto? The hell are you doing here?"

And he laughs, because she has to be fucking around with him. It's what the empress of midgets is known for. "I'm staying with you and your mom for a while. Remember?"

"When was this established? I don't remember Mama telling me you were staying with us." She pushes her curls behind her. "I don't want you touching anything that's mine; you might make it break with that disgusting face of yours."

He wipes his hair down again, eyeing her. She's looking at him with her usual serious frown, but her side glance is mischievous. And suddenly Ikuto gets the feeling that she's not joking. It's strange to think it…but he thinks she's truly being serious.

She's being _serious._

"You and Haruka came to pick me up at the airport."

She shakes her head. "I don't remember doing anything like that but, even though you're really stupid, I'll take your word for it. Unless, y'know, you swam all the way here." Suddenly she thrusts a paper into his direction and he takes it. She turns off the television. "I'm tired now. Night, wannabe violinist."

"…night, midget god."

He looks at the paper and immediately recognizes Haruka's neat script. He sits down, turns on a nearby lamp. He unfolds the paper and begins to read the letter she's left to him.

_Ikuto,_

_I'm sorry that I have to tell you things this way, but I can explain more once you're settled and well rested. That is, if you have questions._

_My husband is dead, and Rima now suffers from anterograde amnesia. She is unable to form new memories. She remembers you, remembers everything up to that day, and now she can't remember when I tell her to wash the dishes. So she will probably not remember the things you tell her from now on. If you experience this before reading this letter, I'm sorry. But I hope this cleared things up for you._

_Right now, Ikuto, I am frightened. You coming back will add some stability to my life. __I've hired a personal assistant for Rima so he will be here at nine in the morning until five. His name is Fujisaki Nagihiko. __Sleep well,_

_Haruka_

Ikuto tosses the letter onto the table and rubs his eyes. Anterograde amnesia? Her father dead? Everything is crashing all at once and he can't think straight anymore. He stretches out onto the length of the couch, closing his eyes. The tiredness caves in on him and he succumbs, willingly.

* * *

**.**

Amu groans when the shrill cries of Nagihiko's alarm clock awaken her. She reaches around to feel for the annoying object when it suddenly stops and his hand rests atop hers. "Sorry, Amu, I forgot to hit the snooze button."

She opens her eyes, stares at his towel-clothed body. His hair is damp, but he smells so good. "It's fine." She stretches and sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It's eight in the morning. It's cool in his room, thank goodness. As he walks around to get dressed for work, she can only think about how…_different_ last night was. He was holding her and touching her as if their relationship was more than what it was.

Her cheeks warm at the thought.

"Hey, Nagihiko…?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you…h-hold me like that last night?" And then she covers her face because it's embarrassing to ask and he must think she's weird or something.

He pulls the sheets away from her and then kisses her nose. "Well every now and then even you must want something else than just pure sex right? I was in the mood for something else, that's all."

"But that's—we aren't like that." She grips the sheets tighter. "We can't be like that."

"Yes, yes, I know, Amu." As he loops his belt through the holes, he pretends as if he didn't hear her mumble "Do you?" He runs his fingers through his hair.

"But I wanted to feel close to you. We are friends after all, right?"

"And do you think _friends_ in this kind of relationship should be close and intimate like that?"

He sighs. "We started out as friends, did we not? We shared plenty of intimate moments even before this started happening. You are my friend first, Amu. Remember that. I figured if we're going to do this, then I am going to be the friend you want. And the friend you want is the Nagihiko who you could cry to."

The relationship is complex, and while they may be using one another for selfish reasons, they will always be friends first. If he's going to have sex with her, he at least wants to feel like they're friends. Even if only sometimes. Because they are both human and will crave closeness that a friend can offer.

She looks down, her hair shielding her face. "I hate this…"

"Amu—"

"Why do you always have to be right?"

He frowns. "I'm not always right. I just…I'm learning to be more honest." _But one step at a time._ He looks at himself at the mirror, frowning when he replays his words in his head. In this mirror is the reflection of a coward, a waste of human life. He is an honest _mistake._

He always will be.

* * *

**.**

The sharp sound of glass hitting the floor awakens Rima. She jolts upright, running out of her room and downstairs to see what's wrong. She stops in the kitchen and finds Ikuto sweeping up glass. He looks up at her, stares for a moment.

He continues sweeping. "Pull your shirt up. I can see your bra." Rima quickly does so. She doesn't remember putting one on…or falling asleep either. A blush spreads across her cheeks but it fades as she moves around him. "Good morning," he finally says, to lighten the awkward mood.

She sits down at the table. "Morning." She rests her chin against her hand. "So what'd you break?"

"A small plate. It was green."

"Whatever."

Ikuto throws away the fallen shards and returns to cooking his breakfast of _omurice._ He cracks two eggs into a bowl, beats them well, and then checks on the rice and chicken cooking in the saucer. Rima pulls her legs up so she can rest her chin atop them. She stares at his tall back and notes that his hair is longer from the last time she saw him.

That was about two years ago.

"What're you doing here anyways? Shouldn't you be in…some other country?" She snickers.

He sighs. "You seriously don't remember picking me up from the airport?"

"Nope."

"Well you did, and I'm back home now. For good. I've found an orchestra here that I've gotten into."

"Ah, congrats."

"Thank you." Ikuto's wary about bringing it up, but he figures it's best to know. He needs to know the limits. He turns around, mouth opened to ask her the question, when the doorbell rings.

* * *

**.**

"My name is Fujisaki Nagihiko, and I am your personal assistant, Rima-chan." He reaches into his bag and pulls out the contract her mother mandates him to carry. Rima reads it quickly and efficiently and twirls a curl around her finger when she's finished. "We should work on getting you into the habit of using that method."

Ikuto crosses his legs. He's seen this Nagihiko before. He looks like that long-haired boy that Amu used to run around with.

…_no shit, Sherlock._

"You're Hinamori Amu's friend, right? The girly boy, the one that dances."

Nagihiko looks at the ceiling for a moment to swallow back his bitter response. "Yeah, that's me." He gives a curt bow. "It's nice to see you again, Tsukiyomi-san."

* * *

**.**

Nagihiko falls onto his bed and shields his eyes with his arms. He couldn't stand the tension in the room whenever Ikuto appeared in it. He hated how he asked questions, how he joked, how he seemed to stare right through him.

He doesn't get what the fuck Amu sees in him. Then again, that's probably she uses him as an outlet—she's probably angry at herself for loving such a jackass.

He sighs.

She'll be over soon.

* * *

**.**

It's raining, but he insisted on having his picture taken outside. Rima frowns at the weight of the camera around her neck. Why her mother thought it a good idea to buy her a camera that weighs a pound when a simple digital camera would suffice is beyond her.

"Where the fuck are you taking me?" she asks, annoyed.

Ikuto gives a low chuckle. "Wow, pipsqueak, I didn't think you were the cursing type. At least now I don't have to be so careful around you."

"I'll repeat—where the fuck are you taking me?"

"To a fucking place, so shut the fuck up and fucking walk."

And then they break out in a quiet laughter, entertained by their immaturity. Ikuto's humor suits her taste—sometimes cheesy, mostly sarcastic. She appreciates their conversations, each and every one of them.

Suddenly her face is contorted into a mask of sadness, and Ikuto stops for a moment. "What's wrong?"

"Anterograde amnesia, huh?" She sighs. "I'll never remember any of this, Ikuto."

"It's not your fault."

"And you—are you okay with this?"

Before he can answer, she runs up the hill they've arrived to and stands under the willow tree. The branches are low, the leaves like wind chimes. Ikuto follows her and Rima awkwardly holds her umbrella under her arm to take the picture.

He relaxes against the branches. He manages a smile for her—she didn't know he smiled—and she counts down from three. Suddenly a gust of wind smacks a branch into his face and she captures a picture of him looking away, slightly frustrated, slightly amused.

This is the picture she puts in her journal of memories.

"On Saturday, I'll be performing some of my pieces at the local theater in town," he says as they walk into town for a snack. "I want you to come."

"Alright."

They stop at a convenience store and separate to rummage through the aisles. He grabs chips, a bottle of iced black tea, and a chocolate bar. He goes to find Rima looking at bottles of nail polish, a bag of gummy candies in her hand.

"Ready to go?"

She looks back at him with surprise on her face. "Ikuto? The hell are you doing here?"

This is how it starts.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for my lack of updates, and sorry about the short-ish chapter. But I'm currently at a writing camp and won't be back home for another two weeks. I MIGHT update during that time, but I can't promise you anything. Nonetheless, please keep this in mind:

**After this chapter, the days will no longer go in sequential order.** These were just the few important days we had to get over.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

~Meme


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